Rest Stop
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Shut Up, Dr. Phil tag: Dean opens up a little. Sam will take it.


**Rest Stop**  
>K Hanna Korossy<p>

The gentle veer of the car onto the exit ramp drew Sam's eyes up from his laptop screen to the darkness outside. Their research into Leviathan had taken on new urgency since "Chet" had found them in Prosperity, but Sam was still coming up empty. The Biblical leviathan were actually thought to be crocodiles, and the few other mentions in ancient texts also seemed to refer to various natural creatures of the deep. The Winchesters' biggest break so far was the figure tied up in the back seat.

"We stopping?" he asked when he realized they were pulling off into a rest stop, the kind that offered bathrooms and vending machines and little else.

"Just for a few," Dean said none-too-helpfully, his mouth tight. He knew as well as Sam that their clock was ticking: Don Stark had said his immobilization spell would only last "a few days," and they had to get to Montana and Bobby well before it ran out.

Sam shut his laptop down and stuffed it into his satchel, gaze taking in what little there was of Iowa scenery. At least, he thought it was Iowa; they could've crossed into South Dakota while he was preoccupied. He glanced into the back seat, and softly snorted at the thought of a car carrying a spellbound Leviathan under a tarp, a guy with hallucinations and a few screws loose, and a driver who had several bruises and bee stings courtesy of a pair of centuries-old witches. Just another bunch of road-trippers making a pitstop.

Dean pulled into a space on the far side of the parking lot, well away from the one other car already there. He turned off the engine but made no move to get out.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Uh...I don't have to go, dude."

"Get the first aid kit, okay?"

Sam's spine straightened, his attention fully on his brother now. "You hurt?"

Dean made a face, clearly unhappy with the admission, but he drew his army jacket aside to reveal a dark patch on the t-shirt underneath, its wetness reflecting the parking lot lights.

Sam felt his blood pressure rise as he shifted in his seat with a combination of irritation and worry. "Dean—"

"It's not a big deal, okay? Some of the glass just scratched me up—it's not deep, I checked."

"Yeah, which is why it's still bleeding." Sam was already shoving his door open. With a huff, he climbed out to retrieve the kit from the back. The annoyance was partly for himself; he'd seen Dean fly through the Starks' French doors, hard, and should've checked to make sure he was only bruised. First aid box in hand, Sam ducked back down to look into the car. "You want to do this in here, or..." It was close to midnight, but the lot was well-lit and there were picnic benches on the grass. The only other person in sight was the middle-aged guy sleeping in the other car.

"Yeah, have someone see us and call it in, get Chet's buddies after us? No thanks. Get in."

Sam did, already rummaging through the kit. Car-seat medicine was always trickier, but they'd done it enough that Sam knew which way to sit, how to turn Dean so Sam could reach his side.

Scissors and a quick soak got the t-shirt out of the way. The damage underneath looked more like a piece of glass had stabbed Dean in the side than scratched him—Sam would've bet good money his brother had pulled a chunk out and tossed it before they hit the road, intending his pulled-tight shirt to act as a bandage—leaving a still-weeping stab wound that nevertheless didn't look too deep. Dean wasn't stupid, for all his stoicism, and would've known and acted if the wound was serious. Sam hoped.

Dean and his freakin' secrets.

They were less than an hour out of Prosperity; the wound wasn't that old. "I think we should do stitches," Sam said quietly, cleaning the skin around the wound with a sterile wipe.

Dean sighed. "Figured you'd say that."

Sam spared him a look Dean would've called bitchy no matter how much he deserved it. "Think we've still got some Lidocaine—hold on."

He was aware of Dean self-medicating with his flask while Sam got out the supplies, but for once he didn't mind. If it helped with the pain—physical and non—Sam wouldn't begrudge his brother.

Skin numbed, Dean leaned forward to rest his head on his crossed arms over the steering wheel. Sam tucked the shirt and jacket back out of the way and got to work.

He was on the second stitch when Dean's muffled voice barely reached his ears. "You think if an angel dies in water, you still see its wings?"

Sam had pondered that himself and didn't need to think about it, or why Dean was asking. His only surprise was that Dean was talking about it. "I don't see how," he said gently, apologetically. "But they haven't found a body." He'd been keeping an ear out for any sign of Castiel, and knew Dean had as well.

Another stitch. Dean's skin quivered under the needle. He turned his head just enough that one bloodshot eye was visible, watching Sam tiredly. "I don't think he knew he was pulling you out without your soul, Sam."

That gave him a little more pause, though he'd given that a lot of thought, too. "Yeah," Sam finally said. "I don't think he did, either." It was probably what he would've said no matter what, but he happened to be telling the truth. Castiel might've had them fooled a while, but he'd seemed genuinely shocked to find Sam's soul was absent. And why wouldn't it be? If it was that easy to pull someone out of the Cage, Sam would've taken Lucifer down long before he did and Adam would've been topside all this time.

"He apologized, you know. Before the Leviathans got to him, he said he was gonna make it up to us somehow."

Sam hummed an acknowledgment. Two more knots and he'd be done. And Dean would clam back up. Sam cleared his throat. "I think in his own screwed-up way, he really was trying to help us."

A pause. Then a whispered, "Yeah." Sam wondered if his brother saw himself and Sam in the Starks, stuck in a cycle of hate and love, scorching the earth around them in their conflicts. Cas just another victim.

Final stitch. Sam painted the wound with disinfectant, Dean barely flinching from the sting, then layered it with gauze and taped it down. Everything sealed, covered up. Back to normal.

Dean pushed up from the steering wheel, blinking almost groggily at the light.

Sam got back out of the car, putting the kit away in the trunk but then continuing around to open Dean's door. As his brother blinked at him, Sam gave him a nudge. "Move over. I'm gonna drive for a while."

Dean grumbled something, but he slid over gingerly, angling his body so he could lean his good left side against the seat, his back to the door. His eyes were already half-mast, and he made no protest when Sam threw the blanket from the back over him.

Sam wondered again how much sleep Dean was getting. Something was clearly eating at him, something causing the drinking and evasions. Something besides Bobby's house burning down or the Leviathan. Maybe it was just losing Castiel? Had Dean feared the angel would have been Osiris's third witness?

Sam sighed, starting up the car. Not like Dean would tell him if he asked. But...Dean had been the one to bring up Cas, after asking Sam to help patch him up. There was still trust there, a connection, and that fed his hope. They'd done less with more.

Sam put the car in drive and headed back to the highway, in the driver's seat for now.

**The End**


End file.
